Fiberlicious

My health club has recently found it necessary to plaster the nutrition information for all menu items in plain sight for all to read. Did I really want to know that the yummy chicken and cheese quesadilla has so many fat grams? Thanks for ruining my appetite, you health-conscious bitches.

My Kickbox Jam instructor, Heather, has rock-hard six-pack abs. If I wore a prosthetic abdominal plate from the movie "300" I would not achieve the perfection this high-spirited dynamo has. God bless her. I want to sit on her and make her eat a loaf of Wonder bread. Strangely, I look forward to being motivated by her, even though I am insanely jealous of her energy level and physique. I doubt even with the intervention of that bitch trainer on "Biggest Loser", Dr. 90210, and a vegan chef I could ever hope to look like her. No, I do not want her, you pervs... But I shall digress. Heather kindly reminds us to eat within 45 minutes of her class to replenish our bodies. It needs to have a 4 to 1 ratio of carbs to protein. Blah, blah, blah..So no curly fries from Arby's. Damn.

I scanned the menu with all seriousness. Was there anything under 18 grams of fat? Isn't this supposed to be the epicenter of healthful eating? Alas, I found a healthy salad option with 26 grams of protein, 15 grams of fiber, and a mere 2 grams of fat. Was this an illusion? Was I hallucinating from the sweat crusted beneath my eyes? Surely this was a typo! I ordered the quinoa salad (pronounced KEEN-wah) with hopes of filling my stomach with nourishing nutrients. Delicious! I hit the mother load with this one. How did I not see this option before? I will make it my quest to seek out this grainy delight in a Whole Foods as soon as I get home!

Fast forward 2 hours. Apparently QUINOA is a Native American word which means "Colon Blow Sulphurous Gassy Delight". Have you ever eaten an entire bag of chips cooked in Olestra, the fat substitute which warns of "excessive gas and oily discharge"? I will venture a guess that my intestines experienced a similar fate from my lunch selection. My belly began rumbling as if I had eaten several cans of refried beans and a bag of dried apricots. It became distended like a mother who is seven months pregnant. My body began producing a ridiculous amount of gas. If you tied a string to my big toe I could float above the checkout at Meijer and you could yell at your kids, "No, you do not need a workout mommy balloon, Johnny!"

It is a very good thing my dance classes do not begin until next week. Lord help the child who sits next to me during Ballet/Tumbling with my tights and leotard cutting into my buoyant mid-section. I spent some time alone today and the world is a much better place because of that. I scared my dog but no neighbors called the police for fear of a gas leak. Have you seen the movie, "Elf", where Will Ferrell belches after guzzling a 2-liter of soda? It is about a 20-second belch. Farting that length of time without sharting (that's a shit-fart for those of you typo Nazis...) your pants is a freakish accomplishment. I was a bassoon of rumbling gas symphonies all afternoon long. Some may think it's revolting. Like you don't ever blow one now and then. Besides, if I didn't expel that gas I would have either exploded or you would look out your window and wonder, "Gee, how did Molly get a float to look like her and it's not even Thanksgiving?" My advice? Order the damn quesadilla next time.